Persimmon Tree

A grandmother sits on a layer of newspaper
beside piles of flattened cardboard boxes.
The cold coats the palm of her hands
like a thin glove, slowly numbing the crevices of her fingers.
Dry flakes of skin dress her wrinkled knuckles
as she remembers her grandson
who would crouch beneath a persimmon tree.
The bright orange hue of the fruit glowed
amongst the frail branches.
She taught him how to trace the bruises
and pick out the ones with the smoothest skin.
She’d wipe off shreds of soft persimmon flesh
that lingered on the corner of his mouth.
This story of bliss splinters
when the feeling of warmth curl around her body
is forgotten and the cadence of her breath weakens.
She wishes memories were like books,
remaining on shelves for one to open,
over and over again.

*

Doeun (Jessica) Kim is a South Korean currently studying in the Philippines. Her work has been recognised by Austin Poets International, Cathartic Youth and Isacoustic among others. During her free time, she enjoys doing contemporary dance.